


God Knows

by rolloverbeethoven



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, 1970s Era Queen (Band), 1970s Era Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst, Beating, Brian May Whump, Brian is lost, Depressed Brian May, Early Queen (Band), Everyone is scared, Hurt John Deacon, Kidnapping, Organized Crime, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roger Taylor Whump, Sad, Sick Brian May, Slight maylor, Then other stuff happens, dying, hospitals maybe, john and freddie are scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-10-21 02:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 22,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20685656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolloverbeethoven/pseuds/rolloverbeethoven
Summary: Brian should have listened to his friends. Instead, he's beaten and kidnapped and fighting to keep his will to live





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I haven't written it all so I can't really say exactly what will be in the chapters it just happens but if you are triggered by rape/non-con elements, PTSD, self harming, depression or kidnapping don't read because it may appear later.
> 
> I don't have a beta reader so there will probably be many mistakes
> 
> I really like feedback and I'm really sorry if you didn't like it or if somethings wrong, I'll try my best <3
> 
> This is also all fiction made up by me so it didn't actually happen

September 1971 - London  
~Brian~

The walk from the flat to her house was about an hour, a long walk, but he liked walks. Plans were changed though, however, when a certain Freddie came marching around the kitchen corner and into Brian and Roger's shared room. "Bri, dear, surely you're not going over to her house now," he sang "We're going out to the bar we went to last week. Just go with her tomorrow, come with us, it'll be fun". Brian always got annoyed when his friends tried to interfere with the plans he had with his girlfriend. His friends never liked his girlfriend, said she was a 'liar', and he'd better watch out. They were just jealous of their love.

"I can't Fred, not tonight," Brian sighed "I have to go surprise her, it's her birthday on Thursday. I can't go, so I'll take her out tonight." Freddie looked defeated, but ultimately, he knew Brian would say this. Brian only ever cared about his girlfriend nowadays. Freddie, John and Roger had spoken about it a few nights back, where, once again, the band had gone to dinner without Brian, who had been at the movies with his girlfriend. They had all agreed that she would cause him serious heartbreak, she did not deserve him. However, they also agreed that he would find out soon enough, and Brian would hate them forever should they interfere.

"Very well, dear," Freddie sighed "I know you want to walk, but it's much too far". Brian smiled at how well his friend knew him. "I'll call you a cab. We're all catching the train, but its much too complicated to catch a train to her house from here" his friend said "just another reason why it doesn't work...". Brian sighed, he knew it was a playful jab, but it hurt him to think that his friends did not trust him to make his own decisions. "Thanks, okay, Fred".

Brian changed into some nice pants, a shirt and a jacket. He had reservations for a nice restaurant in Kensington. He had said goodbye to his friends and stepped out the door and into a taxi. He leaned his head against the window. He loved this part of town, so many parks and nice houses. His favourite part of London had always been the rich history, all the old buildings and monuments, and being interested about the remains of those who stood where he is many years ago.

Opening the door of the cab, he stepped out. Due to his height, Brian always had trouble with stepping out of cars. He could never manage to not look awkward. He carefully picked up his flowers and smoothed his curly mane down as he walked up the stairs to his lover's apartment. She had told him where she kept the spare keys, if he ever needed anything.

Brian knew that she regularly watched T.V around these hours on a Monday, that she had the day off and this was her down time. She loved being taken out to restaurants and flowers, and she loved him. Brian could think of no better birthday present than what he was about to surprise her with.

As he walked in, he could hear the music from her bedroom. He could hear it from outside, but he had told himself it was from the opposite room. He was surprised himself that she was not sitting on her couch, but that was probably because not everyone had rigid schedules during their downtime. He sometimes just sat in his room, listening to music also. He politely knocked on her bedroom door. The music wasn't too loud, but she still might not have heard him.

He knocked again, this time louder, hearing the bed rustle. The door creaked slightly open, revealing the face he loved so much. "Brian! What are you doing here?!" She called in surprise. "I came to surprise you for your birthday! I can't make it on Thursday, and I thought I'd take you out to dinner. Is now a bad time?" he replied confusedly. "No, no, it's alright, I'll meet you out there in ten minutes." Brian was confused, his loved one seemed shocked, but not in a loving or happy way, she was thoroughly dumbfounded, and maybe he was wrong, but she looked a little bit guilty.

Brian's mind sorted through the evidence, but they loved each other too much. He was about to leave and wait on the sofa, when the saw the slightest inch of movement through the slit in the wooden door. "What's going on, love?" Brian questioned, "Can I come in?". His significant other looked like she was searching through the dark crevices of the back of her mind to gather enough words to string along a reply when she stuttered "No, dear, I have to get changed, give me five minutes". Brian knew something was wrong, he had never seen her that nervous.

Through his anxiety, Brian pushed himself through the door and into his love's room, setting his eyes on the naked man lying on the floor. He looked back and forth between the two faces, both smacked with the same dumb, shellshocked expression.

Brian pushed himself back through the doorway he had entered, slamming his ruined roses into the kitchen bench. He was followed to the door by his ex-girlfriend, who was pleading and screaming for Brian hear her out, to give her forgiveness. Brian so desperately wanted to do that, to build again, but he knew he couldn't, not after this. She could not be trusted again.

He ran out the gate of the apartment block and across the road and down the block. Once he reached a far enough distance, he walked into a phone booth and punched the numbers to call the band's house, praying that Roger was still combing his hair or Freddie had lost his shoes, praying that they were still at the house. The phone dialled six times before dying.

Brian wandered out of the phone booth, defeated. He didn't want to be home alone, but he didn't want to be out partying right now. He hated her for this. Perhaps he hadn't been a good boyfriend or he hadn't payed her enough attention or he was too stubborn or he was too selfish. But she should have told him this to his face, not leaving him to discover her infidelity after planning a romantic night for them both.

He wandered into the vast grasslands of the park. He hated himself. He should have been a better boyfriend. He should have listened to his friends. He was supposed to be the smart one, why was he so stupid. He wanted to go home, but he couldn't trust himself not to break down. At least now, somewhere so unfamiliar at night, it felt distant, surreal. He knew he would be ridiculed by his friends, told he was stupid. That was the last thing he needed to hear.

The grass was mossy and wet, but he sat down anyways. It was pitch dark by now, and he was tired of standing. He looked up at the stars. He always found them fascinating. When he was a child, he used to want to be an astronaut. "At least I'll always have this", he thought to himself, and for a moment, he didn't feel so bad.

When he next opened his eyes, nothing had changed. He could still feel the damp clasp of the dew on his curly mane, and it was grounding. It had felt like no time had passed since his eyes were last open, but Brian wasn't an idiot. He hoped it hadn't been too long. His friends probably thought that he was staying with his girlfriend tonight. "Thank god I told Freddie", Brian thought. he wasn't sure he could've handled being the centre of a missing persons case tonight.

It'd take forever to get back to the house by the tube, but he wasn't sure he's be able to get a taxi and it'd be quicker than walking. It didn't worry him, he had forever. Brian shuffled his way over to the outskirts of the park, crossing the barren roads and entering the rabbit warrens of streets. he didn't know this area of town very well, but he knew enough to make his way to the train station.

Brian admired the centuries old buildings as he walked down the paved streets to the train station. From the looks of it, it was in the early hours of the morning. Unfazed, Brian made his way towards the underground stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm not sure what happens right now so don't read if you are sensitive about kidnappings, rape/non-con elements or self harming.
> 
> Love you all <3

September 1971 - London

~Roger~

As he twisted his head through the door frame, he saw a glimpse of matted black hair speaking to Freddie. He felt a sudden gloominess swallow him up. He knew it was only a phase, she would betray him somehow, but he couldn't help feel saddened he had lost his friend. Brian had said to him that he had enough love for everyone, and Roger hadn't questioned that. However, Roger had questioned the portions of time Brian spent with his girlfriend, and the lack of time that was being spent with them.

Roger went and sat down on the couch to watch the six o'clock news with John. He was contently reading the newspaper. "What's troubling you, Roger?" He asked, not looking up from his paper as he delivered the line. "A lot, actually," Roger admitted. John finally looked up from his newspaper with a slight concerned look in his eyes. "I think it'd be better if I told just you and Freddie though, later" Roger awkwardly explained. John received the hint, and his attention immediately focused back on the newspaper

Roger wandered into his recently vacated room to slide on a shirt and jumper, and getting ready to head out. He picked up some of his washing and slotted it away. It had been the first time Roger had cleaned his room lately, and it was always such a boring and hard task. He kicked the wash basket out of his way. He wondered how Brian always kept his side of the room so tidy. He also wondered whether Brian got annoyed at how messy Roger's side of the room was. He probably did. Brian was probably too polite to raise the issue. Maybe that's why he stopped spending time with them, maybe it was Roger's ignorance.

Feeling sorry for himself, Roger skulked out of the room and sat beside Freddie, who was now reading his coffee table book. He could hear the spit of the shower roaring through the pipes. "John will just be a bit, we'll head out at six" Freddie told Roger. "What's bothering you dear?" Freddie asked, although he already knew the answer. As if he could read Roger's mind, Brian came and sat at the armchair, picking up his dog-eared textbook and picking up where he left off.

"Where are you going?" Roger asked, although he already knew the answer. "Just out." Brian replied. Brian wasn't stupid. He must've picked up on Roger's moods lately, it wasn't hard. It would be asking for a fight for Brian to reply with his actual destination. Roger knew this.

As if to break the silence, John walked into the living room in his clothes and drying his hair with a towel. Freddie got up and made his way to the bathroom, kissing Brian goodbye. He would be gone before Freddie returned. 

What seemed like a few minutes later, Brian stood up, grabbed his coat and flowers and said his goodbyes before leaving the house. Roger hoped he would be alright, it was getting dark. Brian wasn't normally out at night by himself.

As soon as Freddie found his shoes, the three men left the house and walked to the train station. Roger was glad he had his friends, he didn't know what he might do without them.

A half hour later, the group of young men arrived at the bar and sat at the couch in the back. The bar was relatively bare at this time, still another half hour before the crowds flock in. John went . to go get beers. "What is it Rog, you've been gloomy lately, dear." Freddie inquired, sensing that it was the right time to discuss Roger's latest issues. "Haven't you, Fred?" Roger answered. "I did, a while ago, darling, I felt a bit lost without all three of you, missing Brian. But I think we just have to accept his decisions, and if he wants to spend more time with his girlfriend, then so be it." Freddie offered. Roger nodded. It made him feel a bit worse to know that the only solve to his problem was to accept it. Freddie kept speaking "We still live with him, he is not gone, dear". Roger found more consolation in this offering, it promised more hope. John returned with their beers.

The night rolled on. Crowds started gathering, music was blasted and alcohol was consumed. Things started to get better for Roger. He was surrounded by about three women when he left to go find Freddie. It was getting late and he had to make sure he knew where he and John were so the three people who left the flat are the three people that return to it. He could see Freddie . from about five metres away speaking to many men and women holding a glass. He was passed drunk. John was trying to usher him out. They had been there for four hours, Roger, John and Freddie chatting for the first hour before getting as drunk as possible.

Roger could stand upright, but his head was fuzzy, and although he was having fun, it would be wiser to end it now. Roger, however, wasn't feeling very wise, and instead walked up to the other end of the club and started speaking to some people and dancing before taking some shots. 

Not long after, John was pulling both Roger and Freddie to the outside of the bar. John was calling a cab while Freddie sat on the ground with his back against the wall. Roger wanted to go back inside, but he didn't want to make John's life harder.

The cab wouldn't be there for another 20 minutes, so the three men were left to chat. "Roger, dear, you look like a girl!" Freddie taunted, stroking his friend's blond hair. Roger, drunk and eager to change the subject, blurted out the hidden but obvious subject that had been sitting in his mind for many days. "Do you think Bri's girlfriend will break up with him?". Freddie and John both shot Roger concerned looks. "Rog, dear, you hate her so much, it's like you'd like to be Brian's girlfriend," Freddie joked. "Roger, I know it's hard to feel like you are losing a friend, I feel it too. But if she makes Brian happy, then we have to deal with it. It's Brian's choice after all." John reasoned.

The friends all jokes about Freddie's outfit until the taxi arrived. John clambered in and gave the address of the flat. Roger and Freddie lay across John from either side, and the last thing Roger remembers is looking up at the sky and seeing the stars behind the buildings marking the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is sooooo appreciated
> 
> This paragraph could be read as slight maylor - non-intentional but you read it however you'd like


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Hope u guys are liking it

September 1971 - London 

~Brian~

Brian walked down the stairs of the underground station and into the grand tiled tunnel under the white sterilised lights. He walked past a young homeless man, and averted his gaze as to not hint to any aggression. However, he did not look away quickly enough, not before he saw the filthy, half empty syringes and razors that lay next to the man.

He felt sorry for the man, it must be hard. Brian wanted to help him, but he knew he would just get himself into trouble. He couldn't handle that twice tonight. 

"What're you lookin' at?" The man bellowed up at him. Brian, scared out of his wits, instead of using his head and keeping on moving, stayed and politely apologised. "You 'fink you're better than me, don't you?" The man yelled. Brian began to move away, but the homeless man stood up. He pulled out a large, dirty razor. Brian knew to keep walking, but his feet wouldn't allow him that safety. Instead, the man shoved Brian to the wall and pinned him. "Give me your money." He shouted in his ear. Placing the razor upon his neck, Brian knew he was too weak to fight this and instead pulled out his wallet, to which the homeless man grabbed in tone hand, pinning him with the other.

The man began to run away, but decided that Brian had to be punished for something he hadn't done. The man's mind was corrupted by substance, and Brian felt his stomach and shoulders collapse into each other as he was punched to the ground, left unconscious.

The man mustn't have punched Brian hard, because he woke up an hour later. He might've had a broken rib, but he wasn't sure. With no money or ways of contacting home again, Brian decided that he had to walk home. It was still dark, so Brian knew he wasn't out long, and his ribs and arm were bruised, and he didn't want to go to the hospital and be a nuisance, he was probably just fine. It was a simple mugging. Brian was emotionally scarred, but he wasn't dead, and convinced himself that he should just go home. His self doubt piled on top of him, convincing him that everything was his fault, nothing was that bad, and he was just overreacting.

Brian shuddered his way up the concrete stairs. His fatigue and emotional pain hitting him like a truck, dulling his physical pain. He made his way to the corner of the road and sat, slumped, in a park bench, deciding exactly how he was going to get home. He had a small map of where he was supposed to be going, which he had cut out earlier when he thought he would need it. He searched his pockets, and realised that he had left it in his wallet, which had been stolen. 

His head spinning, he stood up and decided to walk further away from here. He was starting to worry. Even when morning comes, he would have no way of catching a train or contacting his friends. He really didn't want to beg ,it was his only option, but he didn't even think he could do it.

Brian moved for another hour down the same dark, dimly lit road. He kept walking. His ribs and legs were sore, his head doing cartwheels, but he decided to keep moving. He was just tired. As she shuffled along the road, not knowing which way he was going, he tripped. Brian's weak frame crashed onto the solid pavement, leaving many scrapes and perhaps even a fracture. Brian lay there for a while, rolling onto his back to look at the night sky for the second time that evening.

He knew he had been awake the entire time, and stood up. He winced from the ache that shuddered through his body when he put pressure on his legs and pushed himself upright. He could have stayed there forever, but the last thing Brian wanted was to be found lying on the pavement in the daybreak and carted to the hospital and told he was just being a nuisance and had no real injuries, and told he was an idiot for not listening to his friends after retelling his horror evening. So he just kept moving. 

It seemed like so long ago when he walked in on the love of his life loving another man. He tried not to, but the feelings of self hate and anger flooded him once more.

His whole body ached him, but he had to keep on moving, to set himself a goal, so he wasn't destroyed by his destructive thoughts. He kept moving until he found a crossroad. Moving up the crossroad, he found himself at another roundabout. He had no idea where he was, but he kept from freaking out. 

Moving towards the roundabout, the feeling of being lost and everything that had happened that night hit him in the face. Earlier, he had been too tired to cry. Now it felt like he was too tired not to cry, and tears flooded down his face. He felt sorry for himself that he hadn't gone with his friends, he felt sorry for his girlfriend that he hadn't been better for her, he felt sorry for his friends, who he hadn't spent time with, he felt sorry for the man that robbed him, who was on drugs and probably wouldn't remember it happening. 

After a few minutes, Brian calmed down. He was still shocked after he was attacked and robbed, and how easily and quickly that had happened. He had cried himself out at this point, and just sat with his back against a roadside tree. He leant his head against the trunk as he felt scared, sad and hopeless.

He closed his eyes momentarily, and felt himself drift away into the darkness... 


	4. Chapter 4

September 1971 - London

~John~

As they left the house for the club, John could sense Roger wasn't happy. None of them were. They were happy to be together, maybe, but there was always an edge of sadness surrounding the absence of Brian. He asked Roger what was wrong, but everyone already knew.

The club was fun for the first hour, when all three men sat, idly chatting, until the crowds turned in and everything went into party mode. John never did like this, he was always awkward like this, not like Roger or Freddie. It was times like this when he missed Brian the most. He sat on a couch near the dance floor alone. Times before Brian's girlfriend saw Brian sitting with John, them chatting about music and life and their friends. Brian still liked to party a bit sometimes, and although he didn't like the crowds, John knew that Brian sat out to keep him company as well.

After about four hours, John couldn't handle it anymore. Although Roger said he'd be the one who wouldn't get drunk so he could make sure they got home safely, nobody took that seriously. Everybody knew John would. Four hours of sobriety around drunk party go-ers was what John had to endure, and he'd had enough. He got up to find Freddie, and tried to pull him out of the masses. He turned around and saw Roger staring at them. John made a reach out to Roger, to grab them both and pull them outside, but Roger turned around and twisted his way through the crowd, moving away with a giggle. Finally, John had grabbed both his friends and taken them outside, called a cab with the bar telephone. "I don't know why I do this," he said "You both make it so difficult.

They chatted away for 20 minutes until the cab arrived. After around five minutes, both Freddie and Roger fell asleep in his lap. John looked at his watch, it was one o'clock. He wondered why he didn't feel tired, he was normally out cold by this time. He didn't really have much time to face this question, however, as the cab pulled up to the curb of the band's flat, and John was faced with the task of paying the fare and carrying his two drunk and sleepy friends up to the doorstep.

Once inside, Freddie and Roger made their way into their bedrooms, collapsing on their beds. John still wasn't tired, and instead found himself sitting at the television and watching the night time program. 

An hour and a half had passed, and John still didn't feel like sleeping. He decided that he should go to sleep soon if he wanted to function at all tomorrow. He picked up his newspaper and thumbed through the sports and political headlines until he reached the business part. Nothing could put him to sleep faster than reading the business articles. 

After ten minutes, John could feel himself getting sleepy, and without wanting to risk waking himself up again, he switched off the television and wandered into his room. To his surprise, as he opened the door, a pair of bright eyes stared back up at him. "Go to sleep Freddie, you need to sleep, it's nearly three o'clock," John instructed. "Deaky, dear, I can take care of myself," Freddie muttered back. "Darling, is Brian home?" he asked. "No he isn't." John replies, crawling under the sheets of his bed. He stared across the room to Freddie's bed and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. He had nearly fallen asleep when he heard a faint "Deaky, do you think he's okay, dear? It's awfully dark, and he doesn't like sleeping anywhere but home." Freddie asked. John huffed, he just wanted to sleep "YES Freddie, I'm sure he's absolutely fine. He's a grown man and completely able to take care of himself. I need to sleep and you need to sleep. He has keys, you'll see him tomorrow. Just. Go. To. Sleep," John insisted.

John, having been woken up from both Freddie's question and his own sudden outburst, stared at the ceiling for a bit, just to focus back on himself. However, he found himself doing the exact opposite of that as he thought to himself, "What if he's not okay?" John ordered himself to stop, but Brian normally wasn't out at around this time by himself, he normally didn't like to stay at other people's houses and he probably would have been finished with dinner many hours ago. "Boy, if anything happens to him, I don't know what I'd do," was John's final thought before drifting off that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you like it :)
> 
> I don't know whether to keep going or not  
Please let me know what you think


	5. Chapter 5

September 1971 - London

~Brian~

As Brian opened his eyes, it was still dark. It had felt like days spent in this madness, a dystopian life. He couldn't believe that it had only been a matter of hours since he had his heart broken, beaten up and robbed. He didn't know if he could feel any worse.

He was lost. Lost in London. No way of contacting home. No money, no idea where he was. Brian stood up, and felt most, if not all of his bones, collapse within one another. His hair and clothes were damp, he felt hurt and sad, and just wanted to go home and seek the comfort of his friends.

He kept walking forwards, away from where he had come. His legs ached and his body rolled over. He looked in every phone box to see if someone had been kind enough to spare a bit of loose change. Nobody did. Brian made a note to himself to place spare change in any phone box he used in the future. "If there is a future," he thought.

Brian kept walking. It felt like it had been hours. Once it lit up again, perhaps he could make his way to a police station or even a hospital, call his friends. He would be trouble for them, he was sure, and he didn't want to do it, but Brian was getting desperate. 

He kept walking past the grey buildings and the cold night. His new bruises and scrapes had been causing him so much uncomfort that he hadn't previously noticed how cold the night was. His pain dulled, and he now felt the full force of the extreme weather. His damp hair and clothes only made it worse.

If Brian could cry, he would. But he also hated himself even more then. He hated himself for feeling sorry for himself. it was his own fault that he didn't listen to his friends. But he needed to get over that, he needed to get home, then he could hate himself more if he liked.

Brian made his way down the street, and he noticed a hint of light pushing up the black blanket that was the night sky. He had never rejoiced so much over daybreak than he had in that moment. It was all going to be okay soon, and this could just be a funny story to tell in years to come.

As Brian crossed the street to look in the next telephone box, a pair of bright lights came speeding up towards him. He ran across to the side of the road as a van rushed past him. He had caught a glance at the men in the front seat, with the same glazed, substance abuser eyes as the man who had attacked him. Brian thought about how unsafe it was to drive under the influence of drugs, and he hoped they'd be safe. 

He kept walking, stopping at the telephone booth. As he turned to open the door of the box, he saw the van park at the side of the road. Brian's breath fastened. he knew he was completely safe, but his anxiety in the back of his mind were compiling many unsavoury "What if?" questions through his brain. 

Brian realised he was in danger just a moment too late. He was nervous as soon as the men stepped out of their van, but he hadn't thought of running until the driver locked eyes with him through the glass of the telephone box. Brian opened the door to flee, but his foot caught the pavement beneath him, and Brian's feeble muscles and bones gave way under him, and he fell. He picked himself up, too scared to feel pain, but he was seconds too late, as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You're coming with us," the biggest man whispered in his ear, his warm breath uncomfortably tickling Brian's cold frozen neck.

Brian dug his nails into the man's arm and tried to fight. He'd had enough of this torture. He'd had the worst night of his life. He deserved to go home. He fought all he could, but the big men were too strong, and dragged him over to the van. The men smelled heavily of cigarettes, alcohol and many other things Brian didn't even want to think about, and he gagged as he was roughly dumped in the boot of the van.

He saw three men look down at him. He tried to sit up, to fight. Brian then realised he wasn't going to beat these men, and began to scream. "Knock him out," said the biggest man, unfazed and cold. The two other men followed his instruction, as the man standing to his left picked up his hand and hit Brian unconscious. The last thing Brian saw was his grimy ring on his knuckles as they fell upon him with considerable force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Chapter 6

September 1971 - London

~Freddie~

It was good fun. All Freddie recalls from a few hours ago was colourful flashes of beautiful people that he mingled with at the bar, before being dragged out by John and loaded into a cab, stumbling inside and collapsing on his bed. He couldn't sleep, but he didn't know why. It must've been a while, but hadn't felt that long, when John walked into the room and sat on his own bed. He hissed at Freddie to sleep.

He could tell John was tired. He was tired. But they both just couldn't sleep. Freddie asked John about Brian, slurring his words, he could never speak correctly when drunk. Apparently, Brian still wasn't home, and although he was a grown man and was probably definitely fine and taking care of himself, it was just _so_ unlike him to be out at this time. John said it was three in the morning. Brian had never been out past ten without Freddie, John and Roger, and he was normally home by eight.

However, Freddie mustn't have been that worried, because as soon as John told him that he was 'sure Brian was fine,' he closed his eyes and let his spirit slip away.

The rustle of John's quilt and the stream of morning daylight hitting his forehead told Freddie that it was time to wake up. He sat upright in his bed, seeing John's figure stagger his way into the kitchen to make coffee. Freddie felt a sudden hit to his forehead, suddenly remembering some of the events of last night. Getting out of bed, he felt a sudden wave of nausea and settled down on the couch.

Roger and Brian's bedroom door was closed, they were probably both sleeping and he did not wish to wake them up. John walked to him and gave him a mug of coffee. It was 11 o'clock already, and Freddie knew he would be of no use today, too hungover to help, as he took a sip of his coffee. "Should we wake Roger and Brian up, Fred?" John asked, "They should probably get up and have some breakfast, you know how horrible Brian gets when he feels like he's wasted time." "No, dear, let them sleep. I'll probably go back to sleep for a while anyways." Both men sighed in agreement as John reached over to put on the morning news.

Freddie had finished his coffee, feeling the full force of his hangover, and decided that he'd better sleep this one out. As he got up to go back into his bedroom, he decided to check the answering machine. Nobody ever called the house, but a message was recorded. It was probably just a pesky telemarketer, trying to scam the band out of the little money they had. He played it anyways, just in case. 

"Hi, uhh, it's Bran and I think I'm near the park...I need to come home and uh, I need to talk, we need to talk." There was a silence, "Could you please uhh, pick me up? Uhh actually never mind, really sorry, don't worry I'll catch the train. Really sorry for calling, uhhh, I just - I just need to talk with you guys...See you in a bit I guess. Thanks," Freddie shuddered at Brians shaky and breathy voice, and, filled with and instant gasp of worry, was calmed by the fact that he made his way home, he was here. There was still a sense of uneasiness, however, and so Freddie put down the phone and went to go check up on Brian.

He creaked the door open and shuffled in, gasping when he saw Brian's bed neatly made, with his pyjamas neatly folded underneath his pillow, untouched since two nights before. "Hey Fred! What gives?!" a harsh voice came from Roger's bed. Roger must've picked up on Freddie's ghostly pale face then, however, because he too turned over, processed the sight and expressed a remarkably similar face. 

Both men rushed out of the room, and Freddie showed John and Roger the message. They knew what park he'd meant, the one near her house. "I'll drive, John, dear, can we use your mum's car?" John nodded as he stuffed the keys into his pocket. "Roger, stay here, darling, just in case he comes home." Roger nodded, too tired to protest.

John and Freddie sprinted out the door, and down two streets to John's mother's house, where he slipped a note under the door to explain the car's absence. The men slipped into the car and sped down the driveway, down the street, and halfway across town to find their missing friend.


	7. Chapter 7

September 1971 - London

~Brian~

Opening his eyes, he immediately felt the hard ridges of the plastic 'floor' of the van beneath him. His arms were tied behind his back and his mouth was strapped. The windows were card-boarded, and Brian was alone in the back. There was a divider between him and the drivers, they could not see him. 

He knew he needed to find where he was and what time of day it was. He tried to lift a leg to kick the cardboard window, but his ribs pulled him back down with a considerable amount of pain. He rolled over. Brian then saw a toolkit, and shuffled over to it, trying to rip the tape off of his mouth. 

Ten minutes later, Brian had managed to rip it half off. He caught it again on the toolkit, and ripped the final length of it off of his lips. He rested for a few minutes, grateful that he was able to do that. Sitting up, he used his teeth to clasp the cardboard off of a window. The cardboard was also taped down, and this was a difficult task. 

After about thirty-five minutes, the cardboard was mostly off. What was left of Brian's brain told him to only remove three of the four fasteners so he can stick the cardboard back on, afraid he might be punished for his defiance. Moving his head in between the cardboard and the window, he still saw houses. It was daylight now, perhaps 7 or 8 o'clock, he wasn't sure. He knew he should keep his head in between the window and the cardboard to try and attract attention, but his ribs were causing him so much pain that he was on the edge of consciousness. He taped the cardboard window back with his chin, but only lightly, he'd need to see out of that window again. 

He sat back, but a sudden bump in the road saw Brian hit his head against the floor, knocking himself out.

He'd woken up again, but this time, there was a man sitting in the backseat with him. There was tape over his mouth again, and his feet were bound. They probably found him with his mouth freed. He did not want to interact with this man, he hated him with every inch of his being. He pretended to fall asleep again, but heard the booming voice, "So you're not dead yet. Good thing you didn't kill yourself on the toolbox." Brian couldn't respond to him, he couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything. "Don't act dead, It won't work." The man said, matter of factly. Brian fell asleep again, wondering where they could be taking him.

Brian woke up with a sudden jolt, the boot of the man's foot hitting into his side. It hurt so much, Brian wished he was dead. The van stopped, and he heard the sound of boots on gravel, and the doors were opened. It was surely around 10 or 11 o'clock by that point. Brian figured that they couldn't have gone that far out, they were still in town. They must've made stops. Two men picked him up, taking him into the building. Brian's logic was clouded by his fury, as he writhed and kicked the man, albeit weakly, in the face. "We'd better knock him out, he'll be easier to carry." The second man asked. Brian shivered in fear, he didn't know if he could take another blow to the ribcage. As it turns out, he could. The men were gentle enough to not kill him, they hadn't gone to all this trouble just to kill him now. Brian shuddered as he woke up again in the attic of a nearly derelict house. He coughed, and nearly passed out again from the pain that it caused his ribcage. His hands, feet and mouth were all bound, leaving him forced to stay in his incredibly uncomfortable and painful.

He came to again. Brian couldn't count how many times he had passed out or fallen asleep lately, but he wished that this was his last time, that he could just die. The sky was dark, he had been out for a long time. He saw the men playing a game of poker under dim lights. These men looked dangerous. 

Brian didn't know why these men had kidnapped him. He remembered taking forensic psychology classes one semester in school after being inspired by a show on T.V. It wasn't nearly as interesting as he thought it might be, but he did recall that there were several motives for kidnapping. They could want him to get ransom money, although this is unlikely because they probably didn't know his friends, family or address. He also knew this wasn't the case, he highly doubted anybody would pay his ransom, and it seems too risky to kidnap someone for ransom when there is no guarantee they'll pay it. They could want him to gain political power, but this was next to impossible, what political power did Brian have? They could want revenge, but Brian had never met these men in his life, and highly doubted they had any connection to him. They might have just felt like it, been mentally unstable, under the influence, bored. This seemed the most likely option. Brian shuddered at the only other one he could remember, they could have kidnapped him to take advantage of him. "There is no way," Brian thought to himself, he was too ugly, too lanky to be desirable, but he shivered at the possibility.

He couldn't sleep any longer, so he just sat with his eyes closed for fear of being forced to interact with one of these men. He had been sitting for what felt like forever, when he heard the rush of a few men leaving the room. He could hear muffled shouts, but he could make out some words. "We can't have a bloody search party look through our house?! Jesus...Fuck Christ!" one man shouted in outrage. That was all Brian could clearly hear, but he picked up different words. 

It was cold, and Brian felt like his abdomen was being torn in half every time he shifted position. He wished his friends would look for him, find him, take him home. He was sure he would never see them again, doomed to die here. He wished most of all that he'd listened to his friends, that he'd run from the homeless man and that he'd hidden until daylight.

His eyes opened again, and he'd drifted in and out of his dormant state. The dim light was on, and one of the men saw his eyes open. He closed them quickly, so he could avoid these men he hated so much, but once again, it was too late. He opened them again to face the music, but the other man had also stood up from his chair and was making his way towards Brian with a filthy grin stretched across his face.


	8. Chapter 8

September 1971 - London

~Roger~

Roger slept fairly well that night. He had wanted to sleep in, to get over the horrible headaches and nausea he was feeling. However, he was woken up much too early for his liking. He remembers his initial anger, fury at Freddie for waking him before noon. He also remembers Freddie's pale face, gazing over his shoulder and onto Brian's side of the room. Roger turned too, and saw a neat, untouched bed.

Had this been Freddie or himself, nobody would have said a word. They were known to leave the house for days at a time, reappearing when they felt like it. However, for Brian, this was so unlike him. He rarely left the house, and when he did, he was back to sleep. Roger still wasn't too fazed though, maybe Brian loosened up and slept at his girlfriends and was just milling around before heading home. 

"Don't worry Fred, he's probably just slept at his girlfriend and he's just too lazy to come home, he'll be here soon," Roger offered Freddie. Freddie responded with a shake of his head, his face turning whiter as he turned to the answering machine and motioned for the other two men to come and listen.

Freddie played the message. Now all three mens' faces were the same pale white, and Freddie and John raced out of the door. Roger tried to join them, eager to find his best friend, but Freddie held him back, telling him to stay there should Brian call or come back. 

Roger was sitting at the couch, fidgeting and rubbing his cold and sweaty palms together. He had only been there for ten minutes, Freddie and John probably haven't even arrived at the park. Even when they did, they'd probably find Brian immediately, give him a call and head on their way home. Still, Roger felt uneasy. He made a call to Brian's girlfriend. He felt so useless just sitting on the couch, waiting for Brian to come home, he may as well distract himself.

"Hello," Roger said, cordially. The only thing stopping Roger from accusing her of something was that Brian might be mad. "Have you seen Brian? Is he at your house?" Roger inquired, with just a slight tone of urgency. "He was, but he left last night." She replied. Roger though he heard the faintest tone of guilt and worry in her voice also. He started to worry, but he didn't want to yell at her on the phone, and just hung up. If he left that night, there was probably nothing else she knew.

Thirty minutes had passed. Roger finally stood up from the couch and stumbled the way to his room, where he started to pick up his clothes and fold them away. The last thing Brian would want to see, when he does come home, would be a messy room. Roger had a big task ahead of him, he had not cleaned his room for months, but at this point, he would do anything for Brian.

An hour had passed and Rogers hope was fading away. It helped that he had set his mind to clean his room, it slowed the deterioration. Roger was nowhere near finished, he had put a pile of clothes away and made his bed. He had another five piles of clothes, a trash bin to put out, a desk to sort out and he could maybe arrange the books. He wasn't sure, just anything to keep his mind off of Brian's disappearance

Two hours passed without any sign of John, Freddie or Brian. Roger can cleaned up everything but the desk, dreading to sort through Brian's physics sheets and song ideas. Roger started with the pencils, and rearranged his papers. He came across a half written song, or at least he thought it was. It was hard enough to read Brian's handwriting on its own, but there were many crossed out words, and the sheet was folded in many ways, very un-neatly, Roger thought.

Nearly three hours had passed. Roger had finished cleaning his room and decided to make food for dinner and leftovers, just to give him something to do. He was half way through boiling pasta when the shrill sound of the phone rang through the room. Roger's heart and hopes seared as he ran to pick it up. "Hello, dear," sounded a tired and very worried sounding Freddie, "we can't find him anywhere, we've spoken to police and they said it would be best for us to open a missing persons case." Rogers heart fell. "He's gone Fred, where else could he be?!" Roger began to freak out. "Don't worry, dear, he's still out there, you know how stubborn he is. He can't have gone far. John and I are coming back home, perhaps I can take you there later, we can look again for anything he might've left." Roger started to feel tears falling down the side of his face. "Ok Fred, see you then," a shaky Roger said before hanging up the phone.

"He's gone. He's really gone. I've lost my best friend," Roger said out loud to himself as he curled up on the couch. He let a loud sob go from the bottom of his chest, "I don't know what I'mm going to do," he muttered as tears flooded out of his eyes and gushed down his cheeks.


	9. Chapter 9

September 1971 - London

~Brian~

Before he opened his eyes, Brian sat with his hands and legs bound and his back against the wall, just breathing in the organic aroma of the rotting walls and the smell of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs. He felt how cold it was. His shirt was still damp and had bloodstains on it, and his pants were worse, and it was freezing. He opened his eyes, judging from outside, it was around six at night. He sat with them open for a while, just thinking about whether his friends had noticed he wasn't coming back, or whether his ex-girlfriend had found out yet.

Brian sat there, shivering, for about twenty minutes. A man walked in, a cigarette hanging from his lips, grabbing a thick wad of cash and walking back out of the room. Brian could hear a faint argument occurring somewhere in the distance. 

Four men walked back in to the room sometime later, carrying a case. The men sat at the table and started to load up the syringes. "Getting trashed tonight boys." One of them cackled. "The dealer needs to get his shit together. I'm not paying double the price for one case." Another said. They all sat at the table, playing another card game, and betting using syringes. Brian felt sick, he never liked it when people did drugs, and he felt like he was in critical danger of being killed by these men when they were high.

The men were all high at this stage. One man got so angry at losing that he snapped the marking pencil in half and kicked a hole in the wall. Brian willed himself to go back to sleep again, he didn't want to be here.

Two hours later, the men had used up most of the drug rations. "I'm bored of playing cards, let's go for a drive." The smallest man offered. The men sat at the table for a while, considering this. One man picked up a spoon and dropped it. "No, i-i've gotta better idea" The biggest man groaned. He stood up, tripping on one of the loose floorboards, and made his way to Brian.

Brian's eyes started watering. Anywhere but here. He wished he could go anywhere but here. The man placed a large, dirty hand on his shoulder and yanked his frail body up, crunching his ribs together and dragging him out of the room with the assistance of the other men.

They threw him onto a grimy and wet mattress. One man unbuckled his pants and dropped his boxers, motioning for Brian to engage with him. Brian, only half conscious, was not fully aware of what he was being faced with. Realisation only hit him when he felt sharp metal set against his neck. "You know what to do," were the words Brian heard whispered down his neck. He was so uncomfortable right now, but he knew then and there that he would have to do whatever this man said in order to live. Brian didn't really want to live, but he didn't want to feel the pain of the blade slice his neck and most of all, he didn't want his friends to feel pain over his death. So he took it.

Brian was forced to become involved with the four men for about an hour. When it was finally over, Brian lay on the mattress, all his physical strength drained and his emotional will to live non-existent. He felt disgusted with himself, and he hated himself even more now.

He woke up again in the same position he had been in before he was carried off into the bedroom, but this time it was by a boot to his shoulder. Brian nearly cried in anguish, but felt no voice come out. The man who had kicked him offered him a single glass of water. Brian took a gulp, the only thing he had drunk in a day. It did not taste like water. He tried to gag, but a blow to the leg stopped him. "You throw that up and we'll carry you away to the mattress again." Brian stopped, and sat there in painful fury.

Brian had been there for two days, and had been taken to the mattress three times. He slept most of the time, he preferred unconsciousness, because then his bored brain didn't conjure up as many depressing and angry thoughts. The men only gave him water and bread, the water with a drug that Brian had found out made him easier to work with and 'more involved' when he was taken to the mattress. He had given up hope, knew he was never going home. There was a pattern to his torture. Every few days, or whenever somebody got bored, they called over a dealer and bought drugs, regularly at around 5 and 6 pm. Then, a few hours later, when they were high off their heads, they raped him.

Brian had a open wound on his arm, a bruise that covered his blood soaked chest and he could feel many infected gashes on his legs. Brian at least had the comfort that he would probably die soon, from infection or other illnesses. He didn't want to live anymore, he knew that even if he got out of this, even if he got home, he could never be the same. He would forever be changed, and his friends would probably desert him. All Brian wanted was one last chance to talk to his friends, tell them how sorry his was, before he died.


	10. Chapter 10

September 1971 - London

~John~

John could feel his heart dying as he heard the message. Everything was a panicked blur after that, running to his parents' house, racing the car down the driveway and across town. It was the first time he'd seen Freddie truly afraid. Nobody spoke. He stopped the car and started looking around the park, shouting his name and looking for any clues. After an hour, the police arrived. They kept looking with the police for two more hours.

After three hours had been spent looking for Brian, John felt his stomach drop to new depths. He was gone. He was really gone. They completed a missing persons form, and drove home. 

When all three boys were home, they sat on the couch, not speaking. John was dying. "The message was left at 10 last night." Freddie eventually muttered. "We should have checked it, we might've been able to find him." With that, Freddie walked out of the room and into his bedroom.

Two days had passed. The men were all in grieving. Nobody did anything anymore. They hadn't gone out, they hadn't cooked, they hadn't eaten. They all just sat in the living room just staring into the distance, or in their bedrooms, crying. They couldn't do anything fun, not without Brian.

That night, the phone rang. Roger sprinted from his spot on the couch, knocking over a stack of books that were resting on the coffee table, and picked up the phone. The other two boys quickly followed, and put the phone on speaker. "This is the police, calling about Brian May. Is this John Deacon?" John suddenly remembered that he'd put his name down on the form. "Yes, it is." He stuttered back. Internally, all three men were drowning in dread and hope, would this be the news to give them eternal happiness or the news that would cause their ruination.

"We are still trying to locate Brian, but we have found some things that we believe may lead to his whereabouts. Are you able to come to the police station?" John, Roger and Freddie all nodded, happy that he might still be alive, frightened because they didn't know. "Yes, we will be there." John replied. All three men changed into new clothes and walked to John's parents' house to use the car. 

Speeding to the police station, they all walk-ran into the building, eager to hear the news about their missing friend. They waited ten minutes before being admitted into the police room and sitting opposite the policeman, who had a small box of objects that were individually sitting on zip-lock bags. They shook hands and introduced themselves with the investigator. "We found these. Do they belong to your friend?" The man placed two blood-stained coins, six-pence coins, on the steel table. Roger's face was white, Freddie made a small cry sound and John felt his eyes well up. They were Brian's.

They looked through the other items, all of them belonged to Brian. The policeman explained that while it looked dire, it was important to keep hope, there was a large chance he was still alive.

Although it was only 8 o'clock when the band arrived home, they all went straight to bed, faced with their new reality. John tried to sleep, but he heard sobs emanating from the room next to him. '_Roger_ 'he thought. Brian's disappearance must be the worst for him. John and Freddie loved Brian undeniably and with all of their hearts, but it was Roger who loved him the most. They were best friends. John couldn't imagine having to sleep in an empty room, still surrounded by his belongings.

The next morning, Roger and John both drove out again. Roger hadn't been able to look for Brian himself, and although he wouldn't find anything, if it was important to him, it couldn't hurt. After a half-hour of scouring the area, they were making their way back to the car, when Roger picked up a sodden and small square of green and bluish paper lying on the dirt beside the pavement. Roger's eyes opened as he let out a sob. "Roger, what is it?" John asked. Roger offered no response. "Roger?!" John asked again, a bit annoyed. "It's Brian's map. I cut it out for him." He said. "Roger, it could be anyone's map." Roger shook his head, still holding the piece of paper, but he didn't argue.

They hopped back in the car, and both men began crying, tears rolling down John's face as he drove back across town.

About a week had passed. All three men had attended most classes and gone to work, but hadn't been able to bring themselves to see other friends or go out. They had stopped feeling happiness and joy a long time ago. John wished Brian could come back, and he wished he wasn't such a bad friend, wished he could have been with Brian. There was nothing he could do, and that's why he felt so bad. Even if Brian wasn't dead right now, he was probably suffering in pain, and all John was doing was moping around the house feeling sorry for himself.


	11. Chapter 11

October 1971 - London

~Brian~

Brian didn't even know how long it had been since he'd last seen his friends. It felt like a matter of years but a matter of days at the same time. The disorientation and confusion Brian was feeling was not the worst part of his abduction, though, and he willed for it to be over. He had sat there for days trying to plan how to escape. Brian was normally the clever one, but the starvation and thirst he was experiencing fully clouded his mind. By now, Brian was too weak to stand by himself, and knew he would never escape alive, so he plotted another form of escape.

He was given the perfect opportunity to end this all. One of the men had left his razor the table. Brian was sure he could muster enough strength to move himself to kick the leg of the already weak table and take the knife. From there, Brian knew what to do. He didn't care anymore, anything was better than living in this hell hole. He moved himself to the table and did exactly what he planned, but the table collapsed, falling onto him. Brian was sure it had broken some of his bones, but he would be out of it soon.

The sound of the falling table was enough to bring a man upstairs. One he saw Brian with the knife in his hand, he grabbed it and kicked Brian so hard in the leg that he passed out. 

Brian woke up, tied to the post, with two of the men facing him. "You're going to be punished for this." one of them said in a low, gravelly voice. "You do only what we say. Everything is on our terms." He whispered into his ear. Brian wished he had just stuck the knife into himself, but he hesitated, and he was still here. 

He waited another two days, he was punished almost every two hours for everything he had done. They stopped tying him to the post, decided he couldn't have moved even if he needed to. They were wrong.

He heard the front door close shut, but he knew better than to think that all of the men had left. He waited ten minutes for the men to be gone. It took five minutes and a lot of pain for him to move himself two metres. He knew that even if he _did _get out of here he could not move fast, he'd probably be killed or punished. He also knew that he couldn't just stay there. He grabbed a pin out of the board and started to break the rope around his hands. A pin was all he could get, the men were not stupid enough to leave another razor in his vicinity.

It took forty minutes for him to get far enough into the rope to split it. It was a very thin rope, but Brian was weak. He used his hands to untie his feet, and lowered himself onto the tin roof. He cursed every time he caused a big enough sound to be suspicious, but nobody ever came to check on him.

He sat on the edge of the roof, regaining his breath. It was low enough for a person to jump, but Brian knew that if he jumped, his bones would probably collapse inside of him. He lowered himself onto a tree and got onto the ground. 

He sat on the wall for a bit, knowing that if he sat down, he wouldn't get up. He tried to walk but fell back into the wall. His arms were the least damaged part of his body, so he pushed himself to the fence. The fence was so rotted that anyone of normal weight would have fallen straight through it, but Brian was so unhealthily below normal weight that the fence only caved a bit. He moved himself to the sidewalk, using most of his upper body weight to move himself down the road.

He knew that he'd have to turn at a road, because if the men came back, they would see him straight away. Brian had moved less than 50 metres from the house, and he was so close to freedom, but he knew how easy it would be for him to be found. The closest place he could think to hide in was a carpark ten metres in front of him. He moved into it, and moved towards the back of the shops.

The shops were pretty dilapidated, and Brian just set himself on a broken milk cart and hid behind damp cardboard pieces. He sat and cried tears of joy, it could be over so soon, he could go home. He rested his head against the brick wall, his exhaustion lulling him to sleep. When he awoke, it was late afternoon. He tried to stand up, but he couldn't. He knew that the men would have discovered his disappearance, and the car park would be an obvious place to look.

Brian looked around the largely deserted car park, and saw a small but thick collection of fir trees, perfect to hide while he plots his escape plan. He'd have to move across twenty metres of open space though, and it'd take him at least thirty minutes. He'd also have to walk against the walls, he wasn't able to walk without the support. It was dangerous, but he could either stay there and be found or he could move now and have a chance of getting out.

Brian pulled himself up using the ledge on the brick wall. His arms were still in very bad shape, with multiple bruises and cuts, but they were the most functional body part he had. He pulled himself along the length, every second his anxiety was telling him to hurry up, he was going to be found. The urgency of this was frying his brain, as he pushed himself through and into the trees. He sat under the cover for a bit. They'd probably find him if he fell asleep there, but he probably had some time before he had to move.

He looked out of the trees, assessing his options. He cursed himself, there would be nowhere to hide. They'd find him straight away, the only places to hide were behind walls and in people's gardens. He knew he'd have to move down the street. His hiding place was too obvious. He turned around just to find any other plan, and he saw an alley. It would be very easy to find him there, but perhaps there would be a better place on the other side. He liked those chances more. He made his way down the alley, each step hurting more than the last, his hands getting splinters from holding on tightly to the wooden fences. He thanked his luck, setting his eyes on a park about 100 metres down the street. It would take him forever to get there, but he didn't have to cross a road, and it was surely better then staying back where he was.

Brian didn't even know how long it took for him to get there, but by the time he got to the park, it was pitch black. Brian stumbled into a small area of wet dirt. He was protected from view by the shrubs. He stared up at the stars, just like he did on that night before he was abducted. He almost laughed at himself, how sorry he felt for himself. He hadn't even faced the worst part. Now he felt like he had beaten the main part of it, and he suddenly couldn't wait to see his friends again. Brian finally closed his eyes and drifted to sleep in a good mood.


	12. Chapter 12

October 1971 - London

~Freddie~

They had been told not to give up hope, that he was most likely still alive. Freddie had believed it at first, they all had. They all wanted to believe it, they all had to believe it. But it had been a month, and Freddie just wasn't so sure anymore. He didn't know what else could have happened to Brian, why he hadn't come home. He'd probably been kidnapped, maybe tortured, maybe killed. Freddie just couldn't handle the thought, and he fell into a depression, not taking care of himself, not leaving the house. 

All of them had given up hope. They tried to keep it, but they all knew that if they kept hope, if it was destroyed, it would take them with it. However, Freddie didn't see the logic in that, he had already been destroyed . He couldn't imagine what Brian had gone through, what he was possibly going through. Freddie just felt so helpless and guilty of not doing more to find Brian. He just didn't know what he could do.

Freddie didn't think he had spoken to anyone for a few weeks. He mostly just sat in his room, sleeping or writing depressing songs about his friend. His friends from university were starting to get really worried about him, he was growing thinner and paler and was speaking less and less everyday. Freddie hated them for caring about him. He didn't want the attention, for once, the only thing he wanted was for life to go back to how it was before Brian left.

He figured that the only reason the band was grieving so much was because of the helplessness they all felt, and the love for Brian. He was sure it would have been the same for him if Roger or John went missing. He loved his stupid bandmates, and that was why he was finding life so difficult without them. He loathed how there were no more re-writes of his songs, he hated how he could look at the stars silently, how he missed his lectures on the cosmos. He missed, most of all, the fun he and his bandmates had when they were out together. They were brothers, they were a family, and if Brian didn't come home soon then Freddie was sure he was going to go completely mad.

The only time Freddie left his room was to go to class. He always felt better in class, knowing that's where Brian would want him to be. As he left the house this morning, he walked past Roger's locked door and John on the couch. He hated himself for not being stronger for his brothers, they were feeling just as bad as he was, and instead of bonding over their grief, they were torn apart. John hadn't spoken for a matter of weeks, and hadn't bothered with his appearances from the looks of it. He had messy stubble and unkempt hair, wearing a dirty t shirt and tracksuit pants. Freddie couldn't tell if he was asleep or just lying there. They could so rarely find sleep in their states of constant sadness. "John, dear?" Freddie asked sadly. He got no response. John must've been asleep.

After a long day of school, Freddie was somehow feeling more deflated. He sat in the chair in his bedroom beside his window and picked up a book. Reading had always calmed Freddie. In the past few years, Freddie had never found the time to read, always out partying or writing songs or prancing about with his friends, now, in the past month, Freddie had read six books, back to back. It was the only thing that took him away from his guilt and sadness, and he needed that. 

He didn't know if he could keep on living like this. He also didn't know any other way of living. Freddie was tired. He couldn't live in this dormant state of sadness, he couldn't live any other way, and he couldn't end it all because he needed to be there for Roger and John. Freddie cried in his hopelessness, and hated himself because he was being so weak, his pain was nothing compared to Brian's.

Freddie woke up in his bed, sitting up. His throat was rough and dry, and he had a blocked nose. It made sense, he'd cried a lot last night. He stood up and walked to the window. John wasn't in his bed, he must still be on the couch. He walked into the kitchen and made some tea. As he stepped out of the door, he saw Roger for the first time in days. Roger looked worse than John. He smelt strongly of alcohol, and the features that once made him look like an angel now gave him the appearance of a ghost. "Hey, Rog, would you like some tea?" Freddie asked as he poured three mugs of tea. "You don't look so good, dear," He offered. Roger made a face, and Freddie instantly regretted what he said. "I look bad?! Do you even care about him? I'm dying Fred, I miss him so much. He's either dead or suffering, there's no good outcome. Do you know what it's like to sleep in his room, to have all his stuff in my face while I sleep?" Roger started sobbing. Freddie leaned in to give him a hug, Roger collapsing into his arms. "Of course I care about him Roger. I'm trying to help you. We love you, and I'm sure Brian's fine, you know how smart he is. The most important thing right now is that we stay together, dear, we're all dying." They both stood in the embrace for a while, it being the first contact either of them had had for a long time. 

Both men sat on the couch. 'John, here's some tea." He offered John. John gave him a slight nod, "Thanks," not even looking at Freddie. They all sat in the living room together, the first time in a while, and watched television in silence.

The next few days passed by a bit easier than the others. The three men spoke a bit more to each other, had a bit more contact. Roger still drunk entirely too much and John rarely moved from the couch, but they just had to take baby steps. Exactly two days after Freddie's last class, John and Roger sat on the couch while Freddie sat at the table. The phone rang out into the silent air, and Freddie ran over to it. This had happened a few times over the past weeks, the phone would ring, and everybody would rush over, praying for good news, and it was always a pesky telemarketer or some nonsense. Freddie picked the phone up, not daring to speak, while the other two men stood solemnly at either side. "Is this John Deacon?" The authoritative voice inquired. The band knew who this was, and Freddie's nerves threatened to light on fire. 

"We've found somebody similar to your description. We require you to come and confirm the identity within the next twenty-four hours to keep processes as quick as possible." Freddie took a breath. He did not know whether it was good news or not, whether he should want that to be Brian or not. John spoke on the phone with the police woman, deciding to leave now. There was no . way they could wait, it would not change the reality. This might be it.


	13. Chapter 13

October 1971 - London

~Brian~

The cold touch of the wet leaf against his face slowly woke him out of his sleep. He looked up, and felt a sharp pain in his ribcage as he looked up. He saw the stars again. He knew he should get help, help before he was found again. He tried to push himself up, but his shirt was snagged on a twig and he was pulled back down to the ground, the sheer pain of it all pulling him back under the blanket of consciousness. 

When Brian next opened his eyes, he was blinded by the bright white lights. He looked around and felt a sharp pain in his neck, reminding him of what had happened. He saw doctors, and came to the conclusion that he was in a hospital. His eyes started watering, he was so thankful for being out of there, for not suffering at the hands of his captors any longer. 

He woke up again, this time in a different room. He looked at his hand, how thin and pale it was now. He felt bad for making his friends probably feel a bit sad. He felt selfish. He had always tried to not be a burden, but he couldn't help but feel that he was just a big nuisance now in the lives of everybody he knew. A nurse came in to change some bandages, and noticed that he was awake. She left the room, and entered again a few minutes later with a smartly dressed woman. 

"Could you tell me your name please?" She asked Brian in a kind voice. Brian just wanted to be left alone, to sleep, but she was only doing her job, and Brian wanted to co-operate. He tried to say his name, but his throat scratched and his voice was too hoarse to be audible. "That's okay, you can write some things down. I'm sorry to be a bother, but we need to understand what happened to you." She said gently. Brian picked up a pen, the first time in a while, and tried to write his name without moving his wrist. His arm was such a bother, and anytime he moved anything from his wrist upwards, he felt a sharp stab of searing pain rush through his bone. 

After about a minute, Brian had successfully tried to scratch his name into the sheet legibly. She nodded, "We thought so, we just had to confirm." Brian answered all of the woman's questions for the next thirty minutes, before they stopped so Brian could sleep. So far, what he had learnt from the woman that it had been a month and a half since he had gone missing, that the police thought he was dead, that everybody thought he was dead, and that his bandmates had been notified that he had been found. 

Had Brian not been so dehydrated, he probably would have cried at the though of seeing his friends again. He so desperately wanted to see them, and wished that he hadn't caused them too much pain. He asked the nurse about them, and she said that they were at the hospital, but they wouldn't be allowed to see him until after he'd been treated.

For the most of his time at the hospital, he'd been there for around 5 hours, he had mainly slept. He hadn't been told what injuries he had and how badly they were. Every time they tried to undress him to examine his injuries, he had panicked, causing the doctors to back off. He constantly reminded himself about how weak and disgusting he was, about how ashamed he'd be if word ever got out that he was raped. However, he thought that the doctors had probably examined him in his sleep because they didn't seem to bother any more.

Brian wondered if his parents knew that he had gone missing. He didn't even think they'd care. His father had shunned him in protest of him giving up his time for a rock band, and his mother just followed him. It'd probably be best if they didn't know, Brian didn't want them to feel guilty. He'd probably try to get closer to them when he got out of the hospital.

He remembered the night of his abduction, and how bad he thought he felt over his heartbreak. The only positive out of this was that in comparison, it didn't seem that big a thing. Brian didn't really care about that anymore. Honestly, she wasn't worth his time. He felt bad for thinking that, who did he think he was? He was probably a horrible boyfriend, so bad that his girlfriend had to cheat on him. But she should have broken up to him, face to face, and not been so mean. What did it matter, though? Brian had bigger demons to face.

He wondered what his university thought about this? Whether his professors or his friends raised an alarm that they hadn't seen him in class for a matter of weeks, and that it was not like him to miss class? He wondered if anybody would even care anyways. The thought made him a bit sad, but made him more grateful that he had Roger, John and Freddie, and that even though they couldn't see him then, that they still made the effort come come to the hospital. The last thing Brian remembered doing was asking the nurse if they could please come in.


	14. Chapter 14

October 1971 - London

~Roger~

As soon as he got the call, his hope shot up. They had found him! He knew that Brian was definitely scarred, maybe beyond recovery, but they had him back, didn't they? They'd get to see their best friend. Roger could tell that Freddie and John were thinking similar thoughts.

"Maybe we should all just save up for a car?" Freddie offered as they made their way to John's parents house to use the car. As soon as they got into the hospital, they were made to wait for about an hour before anything happened. An investigator approached them, telling them that she was about to go in to ask the man a few things, to ask his identity, before they were called to confirm it. 

They waited another half hour, they were all bored and tired, but it was still the best thing that had happened to them for a month and two weeks. Soon, the woman came out, saying that he had said he was who they were looking for. She told them that they had to go confirm his identity, but they couldn't go in because he was in too bad of a shape for visitors, they'd have to look from a window. Roger shivered, he must be in really bad shape. He couldn't imaging what had happened to him.

They walked up to the window, taking a glimpse of their best friend. He was lying on the bed, his curls a dark halo around his pale and thin face. His face was bruised and cut. It was clear to them, Brian had been through hell. he looked like a skeleton with bruises and cuts. John let out a soft sob, Freddie just stood there, looking at the image of Brian with a tear running down his face, and Roger left, it made his physically sick that anybody had done that to Brian and he had just sat there in the house, not doing anything, making Brian figure it out for himself.

Freddie walked over to the investigator, nodding his head, confirming that the man was Brian. John just stood there. "When can we see him?" Roger asked, "you won't be able to see him at least until tomorrow, he's in very bad shape." The woman replied. Roger nodded his head too grateful to have his friend back to argue. They all left, went back home to sleep. They hadn't wanted to leave Brian, but they couldn't help him yet, it would help him more if they were fully rested when they came to see him.

In the morning, Freddie called the hospital, asking if they could see him. They said that if they came after noon, they would be able to see him for an hour. "An hour? Our friend's missing for a month and a half, nearly dead, and they give us an HOUR? Absolute bollocks." Roger said, "yes, dear, it is ridiculous, but if it is what Brian needs, we'll take what we can get." Freddie sat back down on the couch with a coffee. The mood around the room had lightened a bit over 24 hours, their friend was back. It was bittersweet though, because although now they had him back, they could see how injured he was, more than they thought was possible.

Freddie, John and Roger drove to the hospital on time. They wanted every second they could have with Brian, god knows they missed him. They had to wait for an hour in the corridor for no apparent reason before being led into Brian's room. He was just staring at the ceiling, looking half asleep. They all cried, elated that they were here to see their friend again. Roger pulled up a chair next to the bed "Brian? we're here," he didn't open his eyes, so Roger just pulled at his blankets just to wake him up a bit. Freddie slapped him hard on the back, "leave him alone!" But it did the trick, and Brian looked at them. 

Tears started trickling down his face as he saw the friends he missed so dearly. Roger cried and held his hand, "Bri, we're so glad you're safe, we missed you so much," Brian smiled, showing his friends the smile they had lost for so long.

All three men were sitting as close as they could to Brian. John had to leave the room three times, each time after accidentally seeing a bruise or a cut on Brian. All of Brian's bruises and cuts were deeper and larger than normal ones, John couldn't imagine what he'd been through. Brian couldn't talk, but his presence was enough to bring them to tears. Roger honestly didn't think he could cry anymore, he had cried so much, but he still kept crying. He was horrified at how thin Brian was, how horrible he must feel. 

They were ushered out of the room by nurses. It was obvious Brian didn't want them to go, but he was also obviously tired. Roger shivered. They could only see Brian's face and hands and some of his arm and they had been pretty shaken by how injured they looked. He wondered what the rest of Brian looked like, hoped he didn't feel too bad.

"We didn't hear much from the girlfriend of his." John stated. Roger had called her earlier, she said she didn't know where he was. The police investigated her, but said that she was not a person of interest. It was odd, Brian went missing after seeing her, never returning home and the most she spoke to them was answering Roger's few questions a day after it had happened. "I wonder if they're still together." Freddie said. It would be ridiculous to keep a relationship with someone who cared as little as she did about the fact that her partner could have been dead, was missing, was suffering, and had gone missing going to see her for her birthday. 


	15. Chapter 15

October 1971 - London

~Brian~

He next woke up, staring at the bright lights above his head. He couldn't believe he was out, but he felt so ungrateful and disgraceful because he also couldn't believe he'd gotten himself into that mess. He hoped the doctors, policemen and especially his friends had no idea about what happened. He couldn't deal with the looks of disgust, the fact that he lost all of his dignity, that he just lay there and took it just to escape with his life. He had had two choices, die with pride or live as a disgusting human and he took the latter option, and he prayed that his friends wouldn't find out.

He had been lying there for god knows how long when he felt a tug at his blankets. He looked to his side and saw his three favourite people, angels. He honestly thought he was asleep, having been asleep many times and dreaming of this moment, seeing his friends again, but waking up to a barren hospital room. he had never looked this bad in a dream and he also was never able to touch his friends or feel their hands on his, so Brian came to the joyous conclusion that they were actually there.

He couldn't hold his joy, his face smiled for the first time in months, his eyes watering just a bit. He felt a hug from Roger, but Freddie pulled him back, making sure that he didn't break Brian's fragile body. His dry and matted hair was patted and he felt loved for the first time in a while.

Brian hated himself again. John had walked out of the room three times, saying he was fine. Brian knew it was because he saw the black and huge bruises on his arm or the deep and painful gashes on his arms and neck. Brian hated himself for not being stronger, for upsetting the people he loved so much. he still couldn't speak, his vocal chords dry from his unconsciousness and stress and malnutrition. 

When Brian's friends were ushered out of the room, he felt alone again. He wished he didn't make his friends so sad, so grim. He wished he could have been stronger for them, looked healthier, disguised his pain. It was his fault he got taken away, and so it was his pain to feel and nobody else's.

Depression really started to kick in over the course of the next day. Brian spent his hours in isolation or sleeping. The nurses were still trying to figure out exactly what was wrong with him and how to do things the safest way. They had said earlier that the gashes on his chest were dangerous because they were so deep and infected, and he heard a doctor speak of possible multiple broken ribs and arm bones.

He got to see his friends twice over the course of the day. Time with the band was bittersweet, because although he loved them very much, he could see they were in pain just viewing him in pain. He was doing a very good job trying to hide all of his pain, but sometimes it was just too much, a wince every time his neck moved, a small gasp every time he was touched. He felt bad for causing them pain, and sometimes just wished they didn't care about him, wished he didn't make their lives hard.

The doctor sat down with him the next day in a chair next to his bed. Although he couldn't speak, he could still listen. "Mr. May, we have found five fractures in your ribs and two of the ribs are almost completely broken in two, and you're lucky none of your organs have been badly impaled. In your right arm, your upper arm bone is fractured and the thinner bone of the lower arm bones are also broken in two, with multiple fractures in your finger. On your other hand, your wrist is almost completely shattered, and there are multiple fractures in your arm. In your neck, there are a number of damaged vertebrae, which you are lucky, have been damaged in fairly insignificant places. They only hurt, they don't cause as much long-term damage. Your legs are almost completely shattered, your left foot has three fractures. The most worrying of the issues is early sepsis in some of the gashes on your legs." Brian was dumbfounded, he was almost damaged beyond repair, and this was only the physical injuries. "We'll have to do multiple operations to fix bones and to hopefully reverse and prevent any infections. It is likely you'll be in hospital for while."

The news made Brian more depressed. He was damaged goods, who would pay for this? He'd have to drop out of school. They probably wouldn't be able to get the band on its feet, they'd probably kick him out of the house, he wouldn't be able to pay rent.

The next day, he was told he'd go immediately into operation. Before that, though, Roger, Freddie and John spoke to him. All of their faces were red and puffy, and they all looked like they had panic attacks. Brian felt horrible, doing this to his friends. How selfish was he! 

The band turned to themselves when they thought Brian was already under. The last words he was able to catch were, "I'm afraid to even think what he's been through, dear."


	16. Chapter 16

October 1971 - London

~John~

He'd had to leave the room on three occasions. He couldn't take it. While he was sitting at home, worrying about him but too lazy to get off his arse, Brian was attacked and beaten, nearly killed. They didn't even know what happened to Brian, he couldn't speak or write very much, and they didn't even know if he'd want to tell them. They also didn't know what his injuries were yet, he could be dying right now and they wouldn't even know. john felt so guilty for not looking for him more, for not checking up on him when they went to sleep that night, for not taking more precaution. It was his laziness that let Brian nearly die.

They had been ushered out of the room, and had seen him twice more the next day when the nurse ushered them out once more after Brian had been put under anaesthetic for his first operation. Freddie looked worried, nobody knew what he had been through. Nobody really wanted to know, but they had to to help Brian recover. 

A nurse walked them out, and the doctor met them in the hallway, asked them to come to his room and take a seat. They all sat on the plastic chairs of the room as the doctor sat in his office chair. Over the table separating them, the doctor placed three sheets of paper. "We've found what we believe to be all of his injuries." The doctor said, "He's got many fractures in his arms and legs, and many complete breaks. His arms and legs are basically useless, and he'll have to go through months of rehab if the surgeries are successful," John felt his heart drop, Brian must've been in such pain, what had he gone through to get those injuries? His blood boiled at the thought of somebody hurting his friend like that.

He looked across at his other friends' faces, seeing similar expressions. The doctor spoke on, "He's also got many fractured and broken ribs and vertebrae," he said. John was crying now, as were his friends. Freddie put an arm around John, but he felt the impending urge to shrug it off and walk out of the room, but he stayed. What a hopeless friend he was, not deserving of comfort, he had sat there while Brian was tortured, and then came in and kissed and cried with joy over the presence of his mute friend while he was suffering in silence. John could only imagine the pain he'd gone through.

The doctor kept on speaking. "He's also got many gashes and cuts on his face, chest, arms and legs, some of which have early stage sepsis, which is very dangerous. Chances are, it's in an early enough stage to be correctly treated, but there is still a chance that we will have to amputate." John was lucky that was the end of the report, because that was when he couldn't take it anymore, he had to leave the room.

He stood outside while Freddie patted his back. 'It's not your fault dear. There was nothing we could have done." John knew Freddie was thinking similar things, and was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to comfort John. John didn't want the comfort though, walking away, he wanted to feel pain, because it WAS his fault, and now Brian was suffering. To comfort himself would erase the meaning of Brian's pain, saying that what he went through wasn't that bad, when it was. It was only a miracle Brian got out of there.

As he slept that night, John worried that maybe Brian would never say what happened to him. John knew Brian as well as the rest of them, and he knew that Brian, after seeing the pain his injuries caused his friends, would not wish more pain on them. But they couldn't just not show pain at Brian's injuries, they caused the band a lot of worry, and Brian shouldn't feel like they don't care about him. But they needed to know what happened to Brian, to help him recover, to at least try to get the old Brian back.

The surgeries took a week, and Brian was out again. He had a miracle time at the hospital, his sepsis was early enough to be reversible, his bones set into place. It would be months until he would even be able to sit up without pain, but he could speak now, and the band was able to see him again.

"Brian, dear, you have to tell us what you went through." Freddie said, quite abruptly, when the all four band members were sitting and chatting. Brian looked at Freddie, with his sunken eyes and pale face. He looked at all of their faces, all of their identical, expectant looks. It was probably cruel to be asking him now, when he was in such a fragile state, but if they could get it out of him now, he'd recover a lot quicker. "I-I can't," Brian weakly looked up at each of their faces, his sad, apologetic look. John wanted to cry, to say sorry for pushing him. 'I'm really sorry, I can't" Brian said, more calmly. The conversation died down as the band members each looked at the ground or the walls or just something to stop them from crying. What had people done to their precious Brian to give him these injuries and to make him silent about it.

A month and a bit had passed, life went on as it had for the past few weeks. Brian had started to get his casts off, and began rehabilitation to get him moving again. It would take a while for much of his body, but he was on the mend. The band had stopped worrying about Brian's physical state for a while now. They had all noticed that Brian spoke much less, smiled much less and ate a lot less. Although his body was patching up, his frail skeleton-like form was not filling out again, his skin was just as pale, his eyes just as sunken. John just didn't know what he could do.


	17. Chapter 17

December 1971 - London

~Brian~

Months had past, and he was beginning to regain control of his body. It was nice when he was able to walk more normally or could begin to write, but every time he failed what would be a completely regular task, such as catching a ball, it had been a harsh reminder of what had happened and how he might never recover to the man he once was.

His friends saw him almost everyday, telling him how much they missed him and how thankful they are that he's recovering. The doctors kept telling him how lucky he was to have not impaled an organ with his broken ribs, or to be recovering as quickly as he was. And Brian didn't know if he was being ungrateful to his luck when he said that if he was lucky he mightn't have gotten the injuries in the first place.

Everything was always so grey. Brian had lost much of the sadness and crying that came along with the whole ordeal, but he'd also lost the happiness that came when he was rescued, and the feeling of excitement to return to home. Brian couldn't feel anymore, everything was grey. 

It didn't help that literally everything in his hospital room was white or grey. Brian didn't think he'd seen a tree for months. Even when his friends came, it was just a harsh reminder of what he'd lost. He felt frustrated at himself, because his friends could see how he felt, and it pained them. Brian wanted to change, to go back to himself, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't.

Brian hadn't spoken in a long time. When he did speak, it was a simple yes, no or okay. Sometimes he just spoke simple sentences around his friends, but he only spoke when prompted, not giving anymore snarky comments or opinionated statements anymore. He'd stopped eating and sleeping a lot of the time as well. It depressed him even more, but he just simply couldn't be bothered. Brian lay awake at night, maybe only sleeping for two to four hours, and just sat there, thinking over again what he had lost. He really wanted to be happy, to show his friends his recovery, but in all truthfulness, Brian didn't really think he had recovered.

He was just lying in bed when he was greeted by Roger and John. "Hey Bri! Freddie's at home, he's a bit sick." Brian just nodded and gave them a sad smile. Roger patted his hair while John sat next to him and gave him updates on their everyday lives. "Sorry we haven't seen you in a while, Brian, the doctors said you'd be out in less than a week. We spent all day writing songs, thought you might want to see them, learn parts, give you something to do." Brian nodded, tired. He looked at the songs, and suddenly felt really bad about how he'd been a burden, dragging down their band. Maybe they missed their opportunity, perhaps they'd never get another one. He looked up at John's face, and uttered his first sentence for the day, "Hey guys I'm really sorry I've dragged down the band. You haven't played at all since I was gone and now we might never get our big break, and it's all my fault." Roger and John both looked at Brian, "No, Bri, don't be absolutely stupid. Our band is the least important thing, and it's not your fault at all. Your recovery is most important to us, don't worry about the band." Roger said, still patting his hair.

He'd had a pleasant experience with his friends. He still felt immeasurably dull, but at least now he had songs to read over and learn the parts to. He would take time to get back to playing the Red Special but he was sure he could do it. Dinner had come and gone, he hadn't really eaten much, only a slice of bread to convince the nurse that he was still eating.

That evening, as Brian read over the songs, another investigator, male this time, walked in to the room and sat across from Brian. "Mr May, we've begun looking into your case, and we've found a few suspects from the information you have given us. However, we need to know if there are any details you can add to make this case more accurate and easier?" Brian sighed. He hated speaking about this, it just brought everything back. Earlier, he had told them what the house looked like in the same area to the park he was found in. Now, he had to give the details of the specific men. He remembered their faces in excruciating detail, being face to face with them for much of his time abducted.

He spent a long time describing his tormentors to the investigator. "That's all I remember, really," Brian said to finish it. The investigator thanked him for his time, shook his hand and left, leaving Brian. His mood had worsened, after racking his brain for the information, pulling out the memories that he had spent so long locking away. The worst was yet to come.


	18. Chapter 18

December 1971 - London

~Freddie~

It hurt him so much to know that what Brian had gone through was so bad that he was reluctant to tell the people he loved most. He knew that Brian wouldn't want to tell, to relive it, the first week or so, but as months started passing, it concerned Freddie that he still wouldn't open up to them.

He knew he had to get it out of Brian, wanted to tell him that whatever happened to him, they wouldn't leave him, but he didn't want to seem like he was prying. He knew how stubborn brian was, he wasn't about to tell them all.

He wished Brian was allowed alcohol, it would make the job much easier. But right now, Freddie wasn't so sure if Brian was eating or drinking anything. He looked like a skeleton that was about to shatter any day. Freddie was afraid he would.

They sat with Brian every day, and now he was allowed to go home. They had prepared and cleaned the house for him, knowing how much he liked cleanliness. They got home, Brian chuckled at a joke or two, and they all just sat at the couch watching the news.

The next few weeks, Brian began to relax. They all did, really, life returning to how they once remembered it. Brian still did odd things though, like he now went really quiet if somebody was yelling, went and hid in his bedroom. He also got really panicked when somebody touched him unexpectedly. Roger had once tried to jokingly drag him off of the couch, but he sat up and had a bit of a panic attack. Freddie just didn't know what could have happened to make him feel this bad.

He still didn't eat, or speak as much. They were getting back into it, but they had noticed that Brian was more resigned. They started playing music again, but they never got any of their old back chat or snarky comments, none of his stubbornness or perfection. He just did what they said, no arguments. Freddie had once prayed for this, for Brian to just stop pushing his own ideas and just listen to them, but he knew this was not Brian. He wanted Brian.

Freddie had talked to John about it, speaking about how they needed to get Brian back. They knew he wasn't happy, they had to help him. They tried to ask him what he thought about every decision in band rehearsals, asking his approval. Worryingly, he always just shrugged or just mumbled back a passive response, telling them to do what they want.

Freddie talked to Roger, and Roger just said that before bed, he always just sat there, writing. He'd never looked at what Brian was writing. He'd wanted to, Roger said, but Brian always kept his scriptures hidden, they must be important. Freddie knew that it was wrong to look at his writings, to pry into his own mental state, but it had to be done. Brian didn't feel like he could share it with them, and he would never recover if they didn't take the first step themselves.

Roger was in charge of distracting Brian, playing cards with him in the living room, while Freddie crept into their room to scrounge around for Brian's pieces of paper. He found a crumpled up one, but upon unfolding it, Freddie realised that not only was the original handwriting barely legible but it was covered in dark areas where Brian had dug the pencil to paper in either frustration or boredom. 

He'd been looking for ten minutes when he heard Roger saying that he'd just call Freddie, the signal for him to leave. He did just that, and later explained to Roger that he hadn't found anything. 

He didn't know if Brian would ever tell them. He didn't even know if Brian would recover. There was a way, surely, he just had to find it to get his best friend back.


	19. Chapter 19

December 1971 - London

~Brian~

He couldn't believe he was finally home. He knew he was supposed to be super-happy that his life was returning to normal, but instead it was more of a reminder of how life was before and how different his life was now. A constant reminder of the life he would now never have.

He felt saddened even more when his friends tried to cheer him up. It made him feel worse that he couldn't be happier for them, he couldn't tell them. They tried to get him back, and Brian knew he would never be able to do that. He could see that his moods were making them sad, and it saddened him that he couldn't change it. It was a never-ending cycle.

He nearly cried every time one of them asked what happened. Freddie said that he needed to tell them, to recover, but that was false. If he told them, they would leave him, never look at him the same way again. He didn't win either way. 

During the third week he'd been back, Brian and the others were sitting on the couch, Freddie setting up the christmas tree. A phone call made John's head turn, but Brian stood up and picked it up. His face suddenly going pale and his breaths shortening. As soon as he put down the phone, he asked John to drive him to the police station. "What's wrong, Brian?" Freddie asked, but Brian just shook his head, and he quietened down. As they walked to the door, Roger and Freddie tried to leave with them. Roger said they just wanted to support him, and Brian nodded, thanking them. They came along for the ride, because Brian was too tired and panicked to argue.

They all walked across the snowy entrance to the police station and sat down, waiting. It was about ten minutes until they were welcomed into an office. It was the same investigator that had last come to question him in hospital. They exchanged greetings, and got down to the reason why they were there. "We think we've found them. We've got photos, and we'll need your confirmation." Brian's eyes panicked, and he probably would have left if Freddie hadn't put an arm around him. He never wanted to see their faces again.

We'll also need to know what they did to you, what their charges are. We know they are already on assault charges, from your injuries, but we'll need to discuss it further. Brian stared at the man, too frightened and praying this wasn't happening. He asked if they could do it in private, because he sure as hell wan't going to let his friends know. He would be deserted at the police station, he knew it.

The investigator nodded, and his friends walked out of the room. Brian first told his about the man in the subway, who beat him and stole his wallet, then how he was abducted, beaten, raped. Brian was crying by the end of it. This was the first time he'd put what had happened to him in words, and it sounded shockingly simple. He was standing up, ready to go home and forget again, when the investigator pulled out photos. Brian choked as he saw the four men who did things to him.

He pointed them out, thankful that they were only photos. He'd spent days trying to forget their faces only for them to be put in his face again. He cried silent tears, and he was still shaking when the investigator thanked him for his time and ushered him out of the room, leaving him broken in the eyes of his friends.

Brian noticed their expressions, faces painted with horror, a reaction to his own. They hugged him, told his he was okay. But he knew he wasn't, and maybe he never would be


	20. Chapter 20

December 1971 - London

~Roger~

He had known something bad happened to Brian, it was obvious from the first second they found him, how damaged he was, how depressed he was. But now he knew it was worse than he thought, at the police office, when they were told they'd found the people who did what they did to Brian. He'd expected Brian to happy they'd found them, that he wouldn't be targeted again, that other people wouldn't, that he'd get revenge. Roger sure knew he was happy, but his joy faded when he saw Brian's face, white as a sheet. He knew it was even worse when he asked for it to be private, asked for his friends to leave. How bad was it that he thought he had to protect himself from his friend's reactions.

They'd gone home, and Brian was shaken. He got better when they reassured him they wouldn't find him again, they would be locked up and he would get revenge. But he was still shaken.

The days went past, forgetting about what happened at the police station, setting up the christmas tree, getting ready for christmas. Everything was a blur, red lights, green trees and a white christmas. Everything was as it should be, as it always was. Even Brian was cheering up, sure he still wasn't eating as much, but he laughed at Freddie the other day, and that was a major improvement.

A month past, over Christmas and New Year's, and everything was slowly shifting back to normal. It was when they were called back into the office that they realised that there would be a trial, and Brian would have to speak about it.

Freddie and Roger had hired a lawyer over the passing days, and while he sat with Brian in the room over, the police went through the report at Freddie's request. On the paper, Brian had signed that he didn't mind if the police told the lawyer or anybody listed on his emergency sheet the details of the case. Freddie thought this was odd, he fought so hard to keep it private, and he signed the box, but he knew Brian, he was probably flustered and just ticked all the boxes to get out the room in his panic. 

Seeing as Roger, John and Freddie were all in Brian's emergency contacts, they were able to get the information from the policeman. Roger had thought Brian had been beaten up really badly, left to die there, and found a few weeks later, and had been expecting to hear that.

They all sat at the table, facing the detective. "So, the charges that we are expecting to charge the accused of are assault, abduction, drug abuse and rape." Roger felt his heart drop out of his ribcage, barely able to turn his head, looking at Freddie and John. John looked shell-shocked, and Freddie looked like he was about to vomit. Roger was about to erupt at the detective, how could he be taking this so calmly? He was so angry at everything. He'd just sat there while his best friend was beaten and raped. Then, when he was at home, Roger wondered why he hadn't recovered yet. Of course he hadn't! The poor man was virtually sent through hell, and Roger felt disgusted at himself.

The policeman and a crying Freddie talked for a few minutes, and Freddie stood up and Roger felt his own lifeless body be lifted out of the chair and pulled out of the room. They waited for ten minutes, nobody saying a thing, Freddie holding Roger and John close. Brian walked out, and John started crying again, Freddie and Roger went up to hug Brian.

He was obviously confused by all the fuss, "Why's John crying? Are you okay?" Brian looked down, and John smiled slightly and nodded. Roger felt another pair of arms on his back, and knew that Brian must be very confused. 

They got home, and Brian was obviously very confused as the other three gave him constant affection. They sat at dinner, and afterwards, Freddie, John and Roger were cleaning up in the kitchen. "We should tell him that we know, then he won't be so nervous around us, he knows we're fine and that it wasn't his fault," John offered. Freddie considered this for a while, before nodding, and leaving the room. "Bri, we need to talk," Brian looked up from the couch and nodded, and Roger and John walked out of the kitchen to sit at the sofa opposite Brian.

"We know what you went through, dear, the police told us," Freddie paused, about to continue. "What?" Brian asked, "They just told you?" He looked very flustered. "Dear, you said they could. Anyways -" Freddie tried to continue, but Brian just stood up and walked into his room, closing the door.

All of their faces were white, they hadn't gotten the chance to tell Brian that what happened to him was horrible, but it wasn't his fault at all and they were there for him. He probably thought they'd leave him.

Freddie tried to get into the bedroom, and did after finally convincing Brian to open the doors. They hadn't gotten locks, but Brian had a way of stacking things so it prevented the door handle from pushing down. Freddie flew into his arms, and Roger stood behind, seeing Brians tearstained face. "We were just going to say that it wasn't your fault, and we want to help you."

Brian was crying, sobbing as he hugged back, and all four of the were hugging. It was the sweetest thing Roger had ever felt, and it was then that all of them realised that soon they could have Brian back, all of him. He couldn't wait.


	21. Chapter 21

December 1971 - London

~Brian~

His face went pale and his heart dropped as he heard Freddie say that they had found out what happened to Brian. They were going to leave him this time. He knew, he'd leave himself if he were in their position. He was disgusting, taken advantage of. He didn't even try to stop the men raping him, he was too weak. Speaking to the policemen brought back all of the memories. He remembered the thoughts that went through his head as he was dragged to the soiled mattress, knowing and dreading what was about to happen. He remembers fainting from the rough movements on his weak body, only to be beaten back to consciousness by the men roughly thrusting into him. He remembers crying as they forced him to do things, and worst of all, he remembers the drugs given to him in the only food and drink he was given, things to make him 'more involved', 'easier to work with', stimulants. And how it looked like he was enjoying himself, when all he wanted was to be out of there. He was disgusted at himself, the way the drugs tricked his body into working with them, while his mind was trying to desperately drag himself away. 

The memories undid all the work he had put into trying to recover. He wasn't sure if he'd ever recover. 

He would totally understand if the band left him. It would make sense, he had ruined their band and wasted their time. He would probably kill himself if they left him, but he might kill himself anyways, who knows? These days, life wasn't really worth the pain.

He had covered up the door so they couldn't come in. He knew they would leave, but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, though, Brian realised he was just being annoying, that they had perfect reason to leave him, and he was just being selfish, again.

He opened up the door, his bandmates collapsing on his frail frame. "It isn't your fault, dear," is what Brian heard. His body shuddered, this was them saying goodbye. 

He soon figured out that the band weren't leaving him, and instead wanted to hear him tell them what happened. Brian really couldn't handle recounting the memories, but he figured that he had basically done it already in his head. Plus, they deserved to know, and Brian figured it was better they learn in private than during the trial.

They all sat down in the living room, and Brian started with the very beginning of the night.

"...And so I knocked on her door, and she was acting really weird, and so I pushed the door and sure enough there was a man on the floor, naked." His friends gasped. Roger began his _I-knew-it-all-along_ speech, but Freddie shushed him. 

Brian expected speaking about his ex-girlfriend would bring more pain, but it was probably the easiest part of the night. He recounted how he wandered around the park for a while, drifted off near the lake. Freddie tutted, holding his best friend close. He told them about how he figured he may as well take the train, and how he got beaten up and robbed by the homeless man. It was then that his eyes became a bit teary. Recounting it, he realised just how scary it was, and how it was nowhere near the worst part of the night.

He talked about being lost, wandering the streets, falling asleep against a tree. He talked about the moment he realised he was in danger of being kidnapped, that horrible ride in the van. All of the boys were crying, they didn't know anything about the robber, his girlfriend, the actual kidnapping. They knew no details of it, and it was heartbreaking for Brian to simply see their reactions to it.

Brian swallowed. He really couldn't handle talking about the house and the events that happened within its walls, but it wasn't about him. So he did, just for his friends. "They tied me up to a post, and I sat there. I couldn't really breathe, and I knew bones were broken, but nothing happened for most of the first day until they sat at the table in front of me and injected themselves." Brian swallowed, but he had to keep going. He spoke about the rape, his voice wavering and his eyes hazing with tears. He couldn't see much, but he could see his bandmates crying, their faces pale. Freddie looked sick, Roger looked angry and John looked utterly heartbroken. 

He loved his friends, beyond belief. His beautiful best friends, who wouldn't leave him even though he was a true and utter disgrace. He'd get through it alright, just as long as he had his brothers.


	22. Chapter 22

December 1971 - London

~John~

Embraced with is best friends, he felt like everything was on the mend. Brian wasn't the same, but he was really trying. For the weeks since Brian's disappearance, they hadn't known what had happened to him, and Brian wasn't about to tell them. He seemed so choked up when the police told them a rough outline of what happened. So, it was a major surprise for Brian to sit all the boys down and tell them in detail what happened. 

It was obvious how much it was hurting Brian to speak about it, but John knew he'd feel relieved afterwards. It was definitely for the best that they found out from him in private rather than in the trials.

He started speaking about the night, starting with his girlfriend. John's chest heaved with anger, they'd known she'd do this to him. They should have interfered, but they didn't, and look what happened. Brian spoke about the robber at the train station, and being punched in the stomach. Frustration clouded John's head, all this had happened while he was out feeling sorry for himself in a club. He should have done something.

It was when Brian spoke about the next part that the boys really started reacting. Their faces were already pale, but as Brian started talking about being abducted and tied up, tears were rolling down all of their faces. Through his own tears, Brian choked out the rest of the story.

Brian was inconsolable when speaking about the rapes. John nearly put a hand on his shoulder, but Brian needed space. He was there for Brian, wanted to be there for his best friend, but he found himself shocked to the core when Brian muttered through his tears the worst part of it all. "And I...I enjoyed it-" He sobbed, looking at his feet. John felt his heart twist and drop, looking at his friends to find identical expressions on their faces. What did he mean by enjoyed it?

"I, I didn't have anything for a while...and, they gave me water with-" Brian tried to use his hands to convey what happened, he didn't want to say it, but it was clear none of the boys knew what he was speaking about, so he continues, "- aphrodisiacs, to make it...easier-" Brian sobbed into Freddie's shoulder. All of them were trying to console him, but John felt sick, what a terrible thing to happen to Bri. How horrible his friend must feel right now. Roger looked like he was about to throw up. They were all crying now, but it was good Brian was getting it out.

They fell asleep in a big heap, all trying to console Brian. John liked how tight-knit the group was. A while later, John opened his eyes to see the roof of Roger and Brian's room, with a huge Hendrix poster staring straight back at him. He spat out the strands of blond hair hanging in his mouth, and moved to his elbows to get a better idea of how he could get out of there. He saw Brian's tearstained and pale face beneath his mop of curly hair, and Freddie hugging both Roger and Brian close to him. John sighed, maybe Brian would get better now, after letting everything out.

The day saw Brian working with their lawyer to come up with a case. The three other boys were in the kitchen, drinking tea and chatting. "I hadn't really thought it was that bad..." Roger spoke. John and Freddie both knew what he was speaking about. Brian was like a brother to all of the boys, but Roger was always the closest with him. They'd been together since school and they were always there for one another. John couldn't imagine how much pain Brian's ordeal had caused Roger, and how badly effected Roger was after hearing, in detail, what happened. "Now, now dear, they're being trialed, it's nearly over." Freddie stepped forward to comfort Roger, but Rog stepped back, "Nearly over?! Do you think he'll ever get over this. You heard what happened last night! Are you and idiot?" Freddie looked taken aback, but he knew Roger was in pain, and knew not to take his words personally. John, always the diffuser in arguments, stepped forward, 'Now, Rog, he didn't mean it like that. We're all in pain, and we're just trying to do what's best for Brian, that's all." Roger looked like he was about to yell at John, and John cowered, scared of his wrath, when a tear fell out of Roger's eyes and he nodded. "Yeah, okay. Sorry Fred," And he wiped his tears away as he walked to the bathroom.

It had all been a horrible experience. John felt guilty for not feeling as happy because Brian was alive and home and able to walk and speak, but he was not the same. Nobody knew if he'd ever be. They were finally on the mend, but the way John saw it, this could either bring them all closer or cut them away from each other.


	23. Chapter 23

January 1972 - London

~Brian~

The trial had been going on for about a week now. He was just so tired and all he wanted was for this to be over. He hated sitting in that room, listening to recounts and evaluations of the worst thing that had happened to him. He wanted to kill everyone on the jury and judge. He knew it was their job to be detached, but they were speaking like it didn't happen, like he wasn't a person. The only thing worse than this was watching his friends' horror and sadness. It was a vicious cycle, Brian felt sad, so his friends felt sad, which made Brian more sad, and so on. Oh well, at least he had friends

The trials drew on forever, but at all the recesses and breaks, the boys went out for lunch or relaxed themselves. Brian wasn't eating very much anymore, and it was beginning to show. He had always been lanky and tall, but now he was clearly malnourished and sunken. His friends were starting to worry for him now. "Bri, dear, could you please just eat something?" Freddie patted his back as he tried to reason with him. Brian looked across the table at Roger and John, who both looked equally concerned. He looked at his hands, and nodded his head. It wasn't his friends' fault, and he knew he was causing them pain. They hadn't done anything and they were in pain. It was all his fault. He wanted to eat, to sleep, to speak, to show them he was better, but he just couldn't. _You're so selfish_ he heard the voice in his brain mutter, and he wanted to help his brothers, he really did, but he just couldn't do it. He looked up at their melancholy faces, "I'm so sorry." He whispered before dropping his head and looking down at the table. It was a miracle Freddie had heard it, he had been so quiet. "Oh, darling, you've nothing to be sorry about, we only want you to be better, that's all." Roger and John looked confused, they hadn't heard any of it. Brian only nodded his head in apology. He was too tired to cry.

They'd returned to the courtroom, and Brian decided he just couldn't take any more of this. He just wanted his assaulters gone. He never was one for revenge, but he had been worried they would come hunt him down, hurt his family.

The trial passed after a week. A week of silence and suffering for Brian, but they had been convicted, and they would be okay. Brian had to stop feeling sorry for himself, and tried his hardest to get better for his friends. Freddie and John kept reminding him that it was okay to be sad, but he had to get better for them. He wasn't going to be a burden.

He had tried so hard, met up with psychologists and therapists. He actually did start to feel better, kind of happier. Perhaps it was just being able to do something for his room mates for the first time in a while. Seeing himself improve made his band happier, which made him happier in return. Things were finally starting to look up.

He hadn't seen his girlfriend since the night, the last time any of the boys had contact with her was when Roger had called her when they were looking for Bri. He should have called her, but he wouldn't. Nobody did, it was odd, but they boys were too angry and Brian was too sad, so it was a surprise when she appeared at their doorstep.

Brian had been lying on the sofa, John and Freddie in the armchairs and Roger sitting on the other sofa when they heard a knock on the door. "I'll go get it," said Roger, standing up. He unlocked the door, but he made no sound. 'Rog?" Freddie called out. Brian couldn't see what was going on at the door, but it would be an understatement to say that he was shocked when he heard her voice. "Is Brian here?" She asked shakily. Roger looked over at Brian before turning back to her, "What are you doing here?" He asked, angrily, about to shut the door. Brian stood up on his feet, his iron deficiency clouding his eyes for a second. He walked over to the door, where Roger made space for him.

He looked tired. She took a step forward to hug him, but Brian took a step back. It wasn't her fault at all what had happened to him, and Brian really did believe that it was his fault she'd cheated on him. He didn't know why he was acting like this, but he couldn't stop. His sad eyes met hers. "May I come in?" She asked, almost indignantly. Brian sighed, he really should let her in. "I guess so," he said, defeated. Roger shot him a confused look as Brian opened the door and let her in.

The boys cleared the room and moved into the kitchen to give Brian privacy. She sat in John's armchair while Brian reclaimed his place on the couch. She looked very uncomfortable, and Brian felt a bit sorry, but he was too tired to do anything about it. "I thought we could speak, maybe," she asked calmly. "About what, exactly?" Brian asked. "I'm too tired for this," he said, sighing as he put a hand to his forehead. He actually didn't want to do this. "Brian! Don't act like you don't care!" She yelled. Brian sighed, looking at her in the eye. "Do you have ANYTHING to say?!" She yelled. If he listened closely, he could hear Freddie whisper-yelling at Roger to stop, whatever Roger was doing. Brian just sat there, quietly. "So that's it? You don't care enough to even say sorry? You just left me, Brian. Stop looking dead, it's not all my fault, you know." Brian sighed, just sitting and enjoying the silence for a bit. "No. You're right, it's my fault I wasn't a good enough boyfriend, but you left me, if I remember correctly." Brian met her eyes again. "Bri, baby, I want to get back with you," she said.

It was then Brian's eyes started tearing up. He hated her so much, and he hated himself for doing this to both of them. He shook his head, "No, I'm not getting back together with you," and as he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake, "Brian, you're a bastard, you know that? You leave me, and disappear because you want attention. You didn't even check up on me, once," Brian had shook his head. Nobody had told her, and he really didn't want to. "Okay, now that's settled, you'd best be off," he stood up, about to open the door for her, when Freddie's defeated shriek came from the kitchen, and Roger burst out. "You BITCH! He nearly died, and you have the FUCKING gall to come here." He ran to her, but Brian grabbed him. "Roger, stop," it had no effect though, Roger couldn't hear him, he was yelling. She left the house, crying. They all were. But it was over, and he could get back.

It had been a year since the trial, and as much as Brian had tried to forget the night in September, 1971, he couldn't. Instead, he had learnt to live with it.he would always be scarred, but he was lucky he had lived. The band had really taken off, and it was an outlet to everybody's frustration either. He wasn't glad this had ever happened, but at least it had brought him and his brothers closer.

**Author's Note:**

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